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Monthly Archives: November 2014

So for those of you who return or stumble upon this here blog and wonder “papa-where have all the beautiful stories of poo poo and pee pee gone? Please papa, I’m so terrified and alone,” I truly am sorry. Forgive me, my sons and daughters, as I occasionally lack in the grace that is social. Also, sit on a dick and fart it to climax, for I am not my brother’s monkey. See what I mean?

Heres the thing: You know when you do something creative and it beats your expectations which in turn scares you into thinking you couldn’t possibly best it? Then you realize that you’re also a lazy bag of shit and have the grammar skills of a third grader? Then you take a perfect, no splash olympic gold medal swan dive into the rabbits hole? Then you buy a pair of flip flops and think to yourself “well fuck it-I’m wearing fuckin’ flip flops?!”

So in the interest of lowering the bar along with my expectation, I’m gonna pick this blog up by it’s sweaty balls and wring ’em out over your lips until they crack and split like hot dogs on a grill.

Speaking of which, a funny thing to say when you’re really sweaty is “if my buttcrack was a movie theatre it’d be showing ‘a river runs through it.'” Or “if I emptied a box of potato flakes into my underwear I could give you 5 pounds of mashed potatos AND gravy.”

When you fart, you should say “Reynolds” cuz sometimes your farts sound like “Burt.” You know, “buurrr-r-r-rrrrrttt.” Then get your friends to say it too and if you’re lucky, someone will text you “Reynolds” at 3 in the morning and you’ll know exactly what happened. This has occured several times for myself. I am lucky.

Change the lyrics to “Ain’t Nobody” by Chaka Khan to “ain’t no grandma-like my grandma-made my grandpa-dinner every night.” This will just make you feel good. So will this:

This is how you sell records, dickholes.

Also, you should sing “tastes so good-c’mon baby make it taste so good-sometimes food don’t taste like it should-you make it taste so good” and refer to yourself as “John Cougar Stretchy Pants.”

When someone disagrees with you, say “thats not the cake I’m trying to bake.” Or, “how’d you like a big, sweaty dick in your mouth?”

That second one is awful, but it illustrates where this blog is headed. I actually have no idea what I’m doing at all. Yes, my sons and daughters, Papa too is terrified and alone.